


In Search of an Identity

by Bamboo_farmer



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamboo_farmer/pseuds/Bamboo_farmer
Summary: There is nothing easy with being part of a secret organization as a master of historical heroes and figures to save the world, especially being the remaining one. How hard must it be to be Ritsuka Fujimaru, the 48th and last Master of Chaldea, but at the same time not?
Kudos: 15





	In Search of an Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned that this story is from a second-person point of view, and English is not my first or second language, so do pardon any mistakes made here.

It's small things at first. A flash of red while combing your black hair with your fingers as you hurriedly pass through the hallway's large windows while praying that when you arrive at the kitchen, you will still have the red archer and the blue Celtic lancer present for future missions. The higher pitch moan of complain (similar to Auntie's) you let out when Mash tries to wake you up after another overtime lesson with Da Vinci concerning mage craft and mana allocation. Or the more extended arrival to the medical bay when you know that the same pacing and bruises would have brought you there minutes earlier. Small things that you would chalk up as delusions stress gives you. But it bugs you still, no matter how small, just like how rhythmic drops of water that you can hear but can't do anything about would upset you. 

But you don't voice it out for what are such inconveniences compared to the utter devastation that the Chaldean employees must have felt when many of their friends and family died during the bombing and can't even mourn for they have such busy schedules? To Dr. Roman's exhaustion, as he burdens himself with enormous responsibilities as Acting-Director to a secret organization working on its bare-bones capacity to save human history when all he was, is a medical practitioner? To what Mash must go through, an innocent person you damned to servitude (how deplorable) and who tires herself out trying to learn how to fight in the hopes that she can protect you from your moments of idiocy and inadequacy as a master, mage, and supposed hero? Yours is just weird sightings brought on by stress (it's just stress). You don't have the right to bother them with things that may not have been there at all. 

That is what you believe to be accurate, and you do not utter a single word about such things to others. But as time goes by, as more Servants vow their loyalty to you, and as more demanding missions comes your way, you slowly conclude that your seeing things not there may not be due to stress at all. Is it a psychological illness you don't know about surfacing? A side effect of practicing mage craft, perhaps? Or more insidiously, a Servant (or maybe a sleeper agent?) trying to kill off the remaining Master of Chaldea through mental warfare? Such thoughts spring up to your mind unbidden as you stand in momentary silence when the sweet and kind Jeanne hands you a new set of Chaldean uniform (mystic code, a female voice corrects somewhere in your mind). 

This uniform consists of a skirt, a white jacket with an extra strap more than you remembered, and black tights. A uniform (mystic code) you know would not fit your muscular male body. Jeanne's smile slowly lowers into a frown and her brows knit in worry. Before she can utter a word of question, you excuse yourself saying that you are feeling tired lately with all the new missions. You say your thanks to her for delivering the new set of uniform, and when you raised your hands as if to emphasize your words, you take note that the clothes you were carrying are back to what you are familiar with – long black pants and a white jacket with one strap and a belt. You run to your room in a cold sweat. 

\---- 

After that situation, you stay in the library for ungodly hours, desperately squeezing your readings into your already tight schedule. Reading books on various topics (try that history book in the upper left corner, that copy of "An Ethical Study of Eltnam's Etherlite" as well) and skimming through thousands of research data archives in Chaldean computers. You are looking for answers as you write pieces of information until your hands sore hours later. Some of your Servants do not care, while others could not help themselves in giving you some questioning glances or other similar gestures (remember Stheno shooting arrows at you for fun when you had unintentionally ignored her?). There are also times when your more outspoken Servants (like Nero) would actually inquire about it, and you answer by saying that it's for you to understand them better while raising a (conveniently prepared) book about Rome. Your Roman Servants would smile widely, especially the Emperor of Roses. 

\---- 

Your research is laborious and often fruitless. Drake offers you a cup of alcohol, but you refuse because you're underage (do you remember your age?), but you actually do have some thoughts about drinking it (don't) out of pure frustration. It is too bad, though (not really), that it is the tablet that Da Vinci hands you that bears the brunt of your ill emotions. It was when you were checking the given mission brief, and you notice that in the lower-left portion where the Master's personal information is written, the 9-digit identification number and name are different from what you remember it to be. There was no time at all to catch the falling tablet. Da Vinci scolds you, but there are traces of worry in her gaze. 

You don't know what to say to her (him? them?) to excuse yourself, and she just sighs and reminds you that you can share your problems with her or to others. You hum as if to agree, but your mind is already spinning on other thoughts. Have you even notice a difference in your personal information before? The hair in the back of your neck raises. Now that you try to remember it more clearly, the numbers often change and even the names, from average to cringe to outright ridiculous, but there are more pressing matters at that time for you to really think about it. Before more thoughts can haunt you, the caster hands you a new tablet, and you immediately check your profile and sigh in relief, seeing the same numbers and the name Fujimaru Ritsuka there. You're still the 48th and the last Master of Chaldea. You're still you. 

(For how long?) 

\---- 

"Master." 

A voice calls out to you. Your mouth settles in a straight line when you hear the term knowing that no one could see your reaction when you're this far back inside the library. In earlier days, the word 'Master' would leave a bad taste in your mouth with it sounding so superior and detached and so full of responsibilities. It's actually not the only term others attach to you. Senpai, husband, deerlet, mother, slave driver (who calls you that?), and the list goes on and on. It's exhausting at first, and you do not deny that being called various nicknames is somewhat annoying as it feels like they are not putting effort into remembering your name. But now, you would prefer that they continue using such funny endearments when calling you because you fear that when they do call you out with your real name, it would not be the one you are born with. At least the nicknames stay constant. 

"Master?" 

The voice calls out to you again, and you notice that it is nearer—way, way nearer. Your body unconsciously moves to face the person looking for you and see Henry, that Assassin-class servant you summoned days ago after your stint in London with Mordred a few paces behind him. He apologizes for bothering your study time, which you easily accept. You wonder why he was looking for you. He explains that Mordred and Jeanne Alter had a fight again when the latter makes the mistake of referring to Mordred as a 'she.' With the two being neighbors, disputes in the future would be inevitable. So Henry implores that you allow Mordred to bunker with him for the moment because apparently changing rooms would feel like admitting defeat to 'that unholy saint' according to the Knight of Treachery's words. You want to sigh and tell them that you don't really care where they stay, but apparently, Servants are notoriously territorial. There are already factions taking dibs on certain dorms and facilities that you need to account for. 

You try to mentally calculate and rearrange the map of all their territories in your mind, but your main thought strays on Mordred and his apparent distaste of people not using the proper pronouns when referring to him. Does he not really know that he is physically female? Or is he actually aware but really believes himself to be a man? Does it not make him go crazy seeing his body and mind being different? It sounds terrible, but you feel a little bit of relief that it's not only you having some mental fight about your identity. Maybe that's also why Mordred and Henry are close, seeing that the doctor, having two personalities he must balance out, also has identity problems. You tell them that you agree and add that you will talk to Jeanne Alter (who you think is also questioning herself) about giving others the freedom to define themselves and respect the identity people choose to acknowledge. 

You focus your attention on the smile Henry sports and the sparkle in Mordred's eyes after you let out such words. You do so, or else you might drain yourself thinking why at the corner of your eyes, it is a red-haired, amber-eyed woman that is standing in your place in the reflection of the library window beside you. 

\---- 

You rejoice in the arrival of Nightingale in Chaldea. It is not for the fact that you now have a healer other than the overworking Dr. Roman (who is more an administrator than a doctor this past few months); instead, it was for the idea of finally having someone to share your problem with, probably. You actually don't believe that it's a question of psychological soundness. Still, you are already skirting the limits of your patience and sanity. You want to do something that could help. It saddens you when Nightingale answers your inquiry with a light shake of her head, saying that your brain is healthy enough despite the stress. She tries consoling you by saying that while her expertise lies in healing, her skills concerning easing the mind's illnesses are still at subpar levels. It would be better to wait for another Servant with more experience for a proper diagnosis, she advises. You thank her for her effort, more so when you notice that no one said anything or done anything that may give you the idea of Nightingale spilling the beans about your problems to others. Trust a medical expert's patient-doctor confidentiality. 

\---- 

Camelot, for you, is the most brutal out of all the singularities. The possibility of dying, of not existing at all, was real and so close. What if you actually died? What if one of the people involved was a second away from their rightful positions? What if you were a Saint Quart too short? What if...you shut down those thoughts. Doubting yourself when you're already in safety's arms (for the time being, that is) would be a fool's endeavor. All those thoughts took a backseat when you remember the fact that Mash is dying. Mash Kyrielight, your sweet and innocent kouhai, who is always trying her best to assist you, is at death's door. How can it be that those who should be given all the world's blessing would be given the foulest of destinies? You scratch your hair in frustration, not even giving a second thought to why you are wearing a scrunchie for your short hair. A yellow-orange scrunchie, if your memories are actually working correctly. 

The bitterness of being unable to save Mash from her fate bothers you too much, and even Fou's cheering (and those of your worried Servants) could not help you much. It left you so out of it that it is only a week after that you remember your talk with Holmes when you tell him of your concerns. 

_"The world is vast, very vast indeed. And interesting, if I may add. I say so for what is more interesting than a murder happening but at the same time, not? Time and space is a very tricky thing, indeed, especially with magic involved." ___

_You feel the creasing of your brow and the frown forming after hearing his opinion. "I know your words are intentionally vague, Mr. Holmes, and it's rather annoying. We don't have time, and you're spouting nonsense here." ___

_"I'm not in the game of testing your patience. It is just that things will only be realized fully when all information is presented as it should be. You must not rush lest you arrive at the wrong conclusion." He turns his back on you to signify an end to the discussion, but he obviously knows you are not satisfied with his answer at all. ___

_"Last question then, Mr. Holmes." He stills at that and slightly turns his head as if to listen to you. "Why have you been avoiding calling me by my name when we entered Atlas?" He looks at you fully then, and you don't know how to describe his expression. Is it indecision? Concern? Amusement? He turns his back entirely, and the emotion(s) and all the meaning behind it vanish before you can even analyze them further. ___

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You bite your hand branded with those accurse marks after remembering what happened, not wanting to let the mounting frustration out of your system in a manner that will gather every active Servant within the building to you. The bite was shallow enough not to cause any bleeding, and you took deep breaths to steady yourself. Feeling that your composure is back, you continue to walk for Mash's room, hoping that she is open for a baking session with you and Emiya. 

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\--- 

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You want to laugh when you remember your words about Camelot being the most brutal singularity. The sense of helplessness facing the Lion King at that time cannot compare to the one you feel as you watch Tiamat, a being that needs the concept of death branded on her for you to defeat her, slowly approach you in an almost lazy yet sinister manner. Can you really win this war against beings far more superior to you? What strength is left in you still? You clutch the blanket in your lap tightly as you stare at the night sky full of stars with a dazed look. It was a blanket Gilgamesh offers you an hour ago, saying that your skirt and tights were not enough for the chilly night outside. You let out a mirthless laugh as you feel your legs and the thick pants protecting it. 

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Unwanted and unneeded negative thoughts continue to spiral within your mind, and you bite your lower lip as if trying to stop them physically. You continue in your destructive musing until the metallic taste of blood enters your senses, and you feel the wet trails in your face as the tears drop from your eyes and into the warm blanket. Your body shakes in an uncontrolled manner like a frail tree sapling during a violent typhoon. You curl into yourself while trying to muffle the distinct sounds of your sobbing using both hands, crying harder when you notice your voice let out a hint of feminine cadence. 

________

___How much more must you suffer before everything ends? You can't remember which Servants you have in your Chaldea and their apparent skill levels, the outfits you have been wearing for this journey, the Saint Quartz and golden apples you have in stock, your gender, heck, even your name. All of it is constantly changing minute to minute. You cannot catch up at all. It's so tiring. You want to give up, but you can't. Billions of lives and the whole history of the world rest on your weak shoulders. If you give up now, there is nothing to return to. You will be nothing. And you do not know if that is a much worse fate than not knowing yourself at all. What little comfort you have now are the words that Gilgamesh left you along with the blanket._ _ _

_____ _

"You should not fret over the question of your identity, Master of Chaldea. To do such would be unbecoming of you. These doubts are incomparable to the duty and responsibilities that you, and only you, would be able to overcome. There is no one else who would have arrived in these sets of circumstances and triumphed again and again. I say so with certainty, seeing that I, Gilgamesh, am aware of the possible versions of the King of Heroes out there through my powers. You are on the path of greatness, Master of Chaldea, similar to mine. Raise your head and walk with pride until the end of this journey. Only then will you finally find yourself." 

_____ _

You wish that his words would ring true, and you enter a night of fitful sleep under the watchful eyes of the stars above. 

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\---- 

_____ _

The alarms blare when you arrive in Chaldea, and people are shouting in a panic with instructions flying all over. Truthfully, you do not hear any of the chaos over the loud pounding of your chest. Solomon does not even give you time to take a breath and stabilize yourself. But that's alright with you. In your case, you just want to find Solomon as soon as possible and finally end this farce. 

_____ _

And in your guilty conscience, you know that you do this not out of the will to save the world - the goal that drives you to continue this journey initially, but the desperation of wanting to know that after all of these has ended, would you finally understand your real identity. Though, that does not really matter anymore to you. You are a human person, and you can still satisfy your own needs and wants no matter others' opinions. You can be selfish, Ritsuka Fujimaru. 

_____ _

You smile at the last thought as you walk to the Rayshift area and into the end of your grand destiny.

_____ _

**Author's Note:**

> The idea about how Ritsuka would feel with the concept of us gamers having our identities as the last Master of our own Chaldea overlapping with his identity got me really curious, so here I am with this work. I have not enough time to really read through the game materials again, so please forgive me if some of the characters feel OoC.


End file.
